


The Prince and the Serpent

by CandyQueenAO3



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A SHIT TON of Platonic Physical Affection, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - The Frog Prince Fusion, Angst, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rating May Change, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24906529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyQueenAO3/pseuds/CandyQueenAO3
Summary: Aziraphale, prince and heir to the throne of the kingdom of Nemah, has found his oldest and dearest friend Crowley (King of the nation of Ifrann) forced into the shape of a small snake after a Witch's curse.  "True Love's Kiss" is reported to be the only thing that can break the curse, so the two of them set out on a worldwide tour searching for Crowley's True Love to kiss him and break the curse.Let's hope that Crowley's True Love isn't right under his snout, or all that walking will be for nothing...*~*~*~*~*~*Exerpt from Chapter 7:“I can’t wear this!” Aziraphale shrieked. “The colour’s all wrong and… and why is it so tight? What are these sleeves even- is that a… Why is there a veil?!”“Stop whining and put it on! I wanna see!”He looked over his shoulder with an embarrassed pout. “But you’ll make fun of me!” he huffed, turning around again to hide his mortified blush.Crowley grinned wolfishly (snakeishly?) “It can’t be that bad, can it?” he asked, still trying to crane his head to sneak a peek as Aziraphale hugged it protectively to his chest and out of sight.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 118
Kudos: 157





	1. The Adventure Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was suggested by beedee87 on Tumblr. I called dibs on the idea, and now I must deliver lol.

Song Recommended for this Chapter: ["The Adventure Begins" - Howard Shore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQPRO240aLs)

***~*~*~*~***

Aziraphale, prim, fussy, somewhat spoiled heir to the kingdom of Nemah and only child of the late Queen Dia was sitting in the castle garden and enjoying the last month of summer. The early August heat hung heavy in the air, and the apple tree he sat beneath was laden with unripened fruits. The tart, green apples wouldn’t be ready until early October, but their scent was still carried on every puff of warm breeze and every passing cloud that promised rain for the afternoon. 

The young Prince-Regent (Nemah Law dictated that he would not be crowned king officially until he either married or reached twenty-five), leaned back against the tree’s trunk and closed the book in his lap, marking the page with a strip of blue ribbon. His eyes slid shut and he allowed himself a secretive, mischievous smile. Anathema, his royal advisor, was no doubt prowling the castle halls at this _very moment_ in an effort to find Nemah’s wayward prince and drag him back for more _ghastly_ paperwork.

He was about to get up and return to the palace when he heard a voice whisper, _“Psst! Angel!”_

Aziraphale’s face lit up.

 _“Crowley!”_ he exclaimed, jumping up and spinning on his heels to try and spot his friend.

Anthony Crowley was the king of the southernmost nation, Ifrann. He had risen to power fairly early on after the death of both his parents when he was only twelve. He and Aziraphale were close friends throughout their childhoods and into their adult lives, often striking trade agreements between their, admittedly, distant nations and doing their best to foster good relations between the two _vastly_ different cultures and economies.

Aziraphale continued looking around the garden for his oldest and dearest friend, when he heard an embarrassed, “Down here, Aziraphale...”

The prince glanced down and had trouble recognizing what he was seeing.

A small, black snake with a red underbelly - barely as long as Aziraphale’s arm - was staring up at him from the grass. 

A pink, forked tongue darted out, carrying with it a familiar voice. “Please don’t step on me…”

“C… Crowley?” Aziraphale whimpered.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Crowley-the-snake sighed as he hid his face in his coils.

Aziraphale gasped and scooped him up, lifting him until they were nose-to-snout.

“Goodness Gracious, whatever happened to you, dear boy?” he exclaimed, unable to take his eyes off the teeny golden ones directly in front of his face.

“Upset the wrong person, it would seem,” Crowley answered, his tongue flicking his friend on the tip of his nose. “A witch came to my castle. She demanded I hand over my throne or face the consequences.”

 _“Please_ tell me you refused!” Aziraphale begged.

Crowley gestured tersely with his tail at the rest of his scaly body.

 _“Of course I did!”_ he snapped. “Why elsssse do you think I’m stuck like this? I told her to shove off, she turned me into a snake, and then assumed my form to rule the kingdom in my stead.”

“But how did you get all the way this far north on your own?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely confused.

Crowley exhaled a long, low hiss. “I… I had my Royal Courier, Newton, mail me here in a box…”

Aziraphale snorted and doubled over, almost dropping Crowley back into the grass, who nipped angrily at his thumb. “Oi! Don’t _laugh!_ It was dark and cramped and _uncomfortable!_ I asked him to let me out outside the garden wall, told him to keep mum about this whole sordid affair, and came to find _you!_ You’re the _only one_ who can help me, angel!”

“Me? Why do you need _my_ help?” asked Aziraphale. “I’m afraid I can’t simply send my armies marching into your capital to kill the Witch without risking an international incident.”

“I need your help because you’re the _only one_ I can trust to help me break this curse!” Crowley explained.

“How on Earth am I supposed to do that? True Love’s Kiss?” asked Aziraphale. His fingers absent-mindedly stroked over Crowley’s head, and the serpent pressed up against them.

When Crowley didn’t immediately scoff at Aziraphale’s suggestion, the prince turned a remarkable shade of pink. Crowley gave a fidgeting wiggle and, despite the lack of eyelids or eyebrows, managed to look apprehensive.

“Yes, actually. The Witch told me that only a kiss of True Love could break the curse. She figured that, since I was so fundamentally unlovable to begin with, her curse would be unbreakable,” he said sadly.

Aziraphale suddenly snapped, “That’s not _true!”_ and Crowley flinched back. The blonde prince cleared his throat, embarrassed, then said in a much calmer tone, “The idea that you’re unlovable is patently false. You _are_ lovable. You’re my best friend, Crowley, and _I_ love you.”

Crowley twisted his head in such a way as to give the appearance of rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, Aziraphale. You’re my best friend and I love you too. I don’t think that will work, though. I think it needs to be deep, true, _romantic_ love,” he stressed, tail curling around his friend’s previously-bitten thumb in a soothing, apologetic gesture.

“Oh _nonsense!_ I’m sure Philia is just as good,” huffed Aziraphale. Before Crowley could stop him, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of a serpentine head. The prince pulled back, ready to lower his friend to the ground in the event of a sudden transformation, but none was forthcoming. Both snake and human visibly slumped.

“Thanksss for trying, Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed.

The Nemahnian prince scrunched up his face in frustration and stomped his feet petulantly. 

“No! This is _unacceptable!”_ he declared, feeling quite incensed. “I will _not_ have you trapped in this form for the rest of your life. There’s nothing for it, my dear; we’ll simply have to _find_ your One True Love and get you that kiss!”

 _“How?!”_ Crowley asked, baffled. “No one, apart from you, would be willing to kiss a talking snake! They’d call us devils and chase us out of town with pitchforks!” A shudder wracked his body from snout to tail at the thought.

“Not if we branded it right…” Aziraphale murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps we could market it as a sort of fairytale-esque story? Picture it: Some lovely maiden - or dashing man, I know you aren’t picky - kisses you and, by the power of _True Love,_ frees you from your _frightful curse._ You two end up living happily ever after, get married, ride off into the sunset on a white horse, all that tosh. Why, peasants and gentry alike would eat it up like hotcakes! We could probably even sell tickets for kisses.”

He giggled, and Crowley shot him a dubious glance. “So you’re just, what, going to forsake all your royal duties to scour the world and help me hook up with some stranger?”

“Don’t be so crass,” Aziraphale scolded. “It’d be me leaving the day-to-day rule of Nemah in the _very_ capable hands of my advisor Anathema Device while I set about reclaiming Ifrann from an imposter and setting the rightful king back upon his throne.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “Speaking of reclaiming kingdoms, what are we going to do about the Witch? I doubt she’d just _hand_ my throne back over peacefully.”

“Excellent point. I was sort of hoping she’d flee once she saw you returning to the castle, fully human,” Aziraphale admitted nervously, twisting his free hand in the hem of his gold-lined tunic.

Despite the blackness of his scales, Crowley managed to turn an interesting shade of green.

“You’re going to get us killed. You’re going to kill us,” he mumbled repeatedly.

“Oh stop being such an overdramatic serpent. I’m sure we can figure _something_ out,”

Crowley opened his mouth to object, when a crack of thunder and bolt of lightning rent the sky, opening the clouds in a deluge of warm water. Faster than Crowley could blink (not that he could, currently being a snake), Aziraphale whipped his cape off one-handedly and bundled his friend up in it to protect him from the water. Crowley burrowed deeper into the warmth of it, glad to be out of the rain, but slightly concerned that Aziraphale might catch a cold from it. 

His hearing wasn’t quite as good in snake-form as it had been when he was human, but he could make out the sounds of Aziraphale’s fretting as the hand he was held in jostled from the impact of the prince sprinting back to his castle (but not before bending down to scoop up his discarded book).

Unsure of why he did so, Crowley’s tongue flickered out to scent the air inside his little cloth shelter. Aziraphale’s cape smelled faintly of apples, petrichor, and parchment. Despite his unfortunate circumstances, Crowley was unable to suppress the bloom of warmth in his chest where his human heart had once been. 


	2. Going Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale make their plans for finding Crowley's "True Love" and decide to set out first thing in the morning.

[Song for this Chapter: "Téir Abhaile Riú" - Celtic Woman ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5K4TIQXCmPQ)

***~*~*~*~***

Anathema Device, Chief Advisor to the Prince of Nemah, sat slumped over the massive oaken table in the Council Room with her glasses dangling limply from the fingers of one hand while two of her others pinched the bridge of her nose between them.

“Let me get this straight…” she began, clearly upset by the news Aziraphale had just told her. The prince and his snakeish friend both looked everywhere _but_ at her. “Ifrann, our largest trade partner as well as staunchest military ally, is currently being ruled over by an imposter and the _real_ King Anthony is trapped as a tiny snake. And you, my prince, are insisting you take him on a whirlwind trip across the world to find the _one_ person out of _billions_ who could _potentially_ break his curse? Have I understood this correctly?!”

“Well… when you put it like _that…_ It all sounds rather awful, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale mumbled, stroking Crowley’s head nervously.

“Ah, give him a break,” Crowley interrupted shortly. He shot Anathema a glare across the table and was met with one of equal intensity. “He’s doing his best.”

“And _you!”_ the advisor snapped, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. “You just _had_ to go and mouth off to a witch! _Why_ am I not surprised that your forked tongue became an _actual_ forked tongue?!”

“Oi! Don’t go blaming me for thisss!” Crowley’s voice hissed out between his clenched teeth. His tail lashed the air angrily.

“You could have just surrendered, come to us, and then we would have sent our soldiers to liberate your capital! For God’s sake, Anthony, you’ve been trained on tact, diplomacy, and military strategy since you were _five!”_ Anathema shouted, and half rose from her chair.

“In his defense…” Aziraphale interrupted nervously, trying to put himself between his furious advisor and his friend. “...the witch could have simply executed him immediately upon surrender. At least this way, he was able to sneak out of the palace and come to us.”

Anathema sat down heavily back in her chair, forced to concede the point. Crowley stuck his tongue out at her and she wasn’t sure if it was just him smelling the air, or if he was simply being childish.

“How _did_ you escape the castle?” she asked. “I doubt your usurper would have just allowed you to walk free, no questions asked.”

“Newt smuggled me to safety and brought me here in a box by pretending I was mail,” Crowley replied.

Anathema fell silent and, for a moment, Crowley thought she was about to burst into gloating laughter. After a moment, it became apparent that she was _genuinely_ impressed with his scheme (as humiliating as it was).

“Good job, Your Kingship,” she admitted kindly. She folded her hands under her chin and her eyes flickered to Aziraphale. “I take it you’re still hell-bent on leaving with him instead of - I don’t know - throwing a ball or something and having eligible folks come _here?”_

“A _ball,”_ Aziraphale scoffed, as if the notion were pure madness. “Only the nobility would be able to attend, and it would take far too much time that could better be spent helping Crowley.”

Anathema arched an eyebrow.

“And this has _nothing_ to do with the fact that you’ve been avoiding your royal duties all day?”

“I- well- that is to say-” Aziraphale stammered, trying to look like he _wasn’t_ simply trying to skip out on paperwork and failing miserably. 

Anathema sighed, already knowing her prince’s mind was made up and that there was little she could do to stop him - he was stubborn like that. She slipped her glasses back onto her nose and waved him off.

“Fine. Have it your way, your majesty. You can set out tomorrow at first light and I’ll have some supplies prepared for your journey. I’d send a contingent of guards with you, but I know that’d just draw attention and King Anthony _really_ can’t afford that right now,” she said frustratedly.

Crowley crowed in triumph and slithered up to curl around Aziraphale’s neck, who let his hands drop to his sides. “Thank you, Anathema. I’ll take my family’s sword for protection as well.”

Anathema slumped a little in relief at the thought that her prince wouldn’t be going into the unknown _completely_ unarmed. His plan still didn’t sit easy with her, but Nemah had a decent enough spyring, led by Spymaster Shadwell, who could keep an eye out for him and Anthony from the shadows and intervene if necessary. Anathema pushed back her chair and stood.

“If you would allow me to do so, King Anthony, I could show you to the Guest Quarters where you’ll be staying tonight,” She paused, then asked, “Actually. Would a shoe box be preferable?”

Crowley hissed angrily, right next to Aziraphale’s ear. _“No, I don’t want a_ **_shoe box!_ ** I am sssstill a person, just shaped differently! I’ll ssssssssleep in a _normal_ bed!”

“Alright! Alright!” conceded Anathema, eager to move on. “I’ll show you to your quarters, then. Follow me, if you would be so kind.”

She extended her hand close to Crowley, who slithered grumpily into her palm.

***~*~*~*~***

It was still raining long into the evening by the time Crowley bedded down for the night. The storm had increased in its intensity, lashing the windows with rain and splitting the darkened sky with streaks of lightning.

None of this bothered Crowley, who was curled up on a pillow in a large (at least to him), luxurious bed with the covers tucked up to his little head. He _loved_ the rain and the thunder. In fact, it served to help him sleep better.

This night, however, he found it quite impossible to get comfortable.

The days may have been warm, yes, but on these stormy nights, a chill sank into the stones of the castle. Crowley, currently trapped in a cold-blooded shape, was unable to generate any body heat or even shiver to warm himself.

In a word, he was _freezing!_

Crowley groaned in mortification and began sliding out of the sheets (thankfully not silken, or he would have been immobilized) to drop onto the frigid floor. He scooted across the rough stone towards the door, which was mercifully kept open for him.

***~*~*~*~***

Aziraphale, meanwhile, sat propped upright in his bed, reading a book lit only by a single candle. Every so often, a new bolt of lightning would illuminate the room completely, or a new crack of thunder would rattle the foundations and he would squeeze his eyes shut until it was over.

Thunderstorms were fine during the day, but at _night_ they frightened him and kept him from sleeping. Hence why he was up at such an ungodly hour reading whatever book was at hand.[1]

Unfortunately, however, it _also_ meant that he was awake enough to feel something cold and _scaly_ squirm around his ankle.

Aziraphale shrieked and kicked out. The thing flew straight up into the air a foot or two before landing in his lap with a _plop!._

_“Oi!_ What was that for?!” Crowley snapped.

“Oh! It’s just you, dear boy. You scared me for a moment there,” Aziraphale exhaled. He scooted down on his pillow until he was flat on his back with Crowley on his chest so he could look at him eye-to-slitted-eye. “What on Earth are you doing crawling into my bed in the middle of the night?”

Crowley mumbled something incoherent and scooted closer to Aziraphale’s face. When asked to speak up, he blurted out, _“I sssssssaid I’m_ **_cold,_ ** _Aziraphale!”_

The blonde blinked rapidly before understanding dawned on his features.

“Ohmygoodness how did I not _realize?!_ I’m so sorry, Crowley! You must be _freezing,_ poor dear!” He lifted up the collar of his nightgown. “Go on, get in. I don’t move much while I sleep so you’ll be safe from me potentially squishing you.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley sighed, and slithered under his best friend’s nightgown until he was curled up directly above his heart. His diminutive head poked out past the collar to allow himself to breath. 

He flicked his tongue across Aziraphale’s pulse-point below his jaw and the Nemahnian prince giggled, “Stop that, you dreadful fiend!”

Crowley chuckled in reply and acquiesced, burying his snout at the junction of Aziraphale’s neck and clavicle.

“The storm’s not gonna keep you up?” the snake asked quietly as he allowed the warmth from the body below him to soak into his scales.

Aziraphale let his head sink back against his pillow and he placed a hand over Crowley’s long form. Their touches were separated by a layer of cloth, but he still stroked up and down his coils. Aziraphale hummed sleepily. “No, actually. Having you here is… well… it’s soothing, in a way. I feel… safe.”

“I’m glad,” came a drowsy, serpentine voice.

They both nodded off fairly quickly after that.

Neither of them sensed the first thread of the curse unravelling, nor noticed the fact that Crowley now had eyelids to close in sleep…

***~*~*~*~***

_1 "The Care and Keeping of Serpents"_ as it turns out.[return to text]


	3. Oranges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale visit the capital of Nemah and share a lovely breakfast.

Song Recommended for this Chapter: ["Lucky" - Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQCY2zL0Jr8)

***~*~*~*~***

  
“Alright, I’ve packed you everything you need,” Anathema said with a long-suffering sigh. She adjusted the straps on Aziraphale’s knapsack and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. “There’s enough food and money in that pack to tide you over for a few days, as well as some medical supplies should anything go wrong. I’ve also taken the liberty of sending out missives to our various outposts that you may be stopping by to restock from time-to-time. Do you have your sword?”

Aziraphale unsheathed the blade from its blue and silver-trimmed scabbard at his side, holding it up for presentation. Anathema ran her fingers along the flat of it, polished to a mirror shine.

“Can we get on with this?” Crowley asked impatiently from where he was looped around his friend’s throat like a living necklace. He fixed Aziraphale with a steady gaze. “We are wasting precious ‘get me back my human body’ time!”

The prince nodded. “Right. Yes. Of course. Any particular destination in mind?”

Anathema interrupted sarcastically.  _ “I  _ suggest that  _ biiiiiig  _ capital city of ours just outside the castle walls.”

Aziraphale turned up his nose at his advisor’s sardonic tone. “No need to be rude, Anathema dear.”

He made to exit the palace, but was yanked back by his straps again

“Hold up!” Anathema said quickly. She crammed something into his pack. “I almost forgot to give you your map.”

Crowley peeked into the open flap of the knapsack. “Why’s it made of  _ cloth  _ instead of  _ paper?” _

“A cloth map is more sturdy; less likely to tear and get ruined by water, too,” the woman commented, staring flatly at her prince’s serpentine companion.

“Ah,”

Crowley curled back around Aziraphale’s neck as the blond took both of Anathema’s hands in his.

“I’m leaving Nemah in your more-than-capable hands, my girl,” the prince said. He ran his fingers over her knuckles as she gave him a small smile. “I’ll send letters frequently, and I’ll make sure Crowley and I stay as inconspicuous as possible.”

He gave her hands one final, reassuring squeeze, then turned for the palace doors, white cloak billowing behind him like wings.

***~*~*~*~***

Hemel, Nemah’s capital city and home to the prince’s castle, was the largest settlement of the kingdom. Encircled by a massive river that drained into the southern ocean, it served as a major waterway and levied tolls from ships seeking to pass on their way through. 

With its wealth from trading, and abundance of friendly people, Hemel was the jewel of Nemah.

“So, where shall we look first?” Aziraphale asked. He was already giddy with excitement from the thought of so many opportunities for adventure stretched out before him. “Should we just walk around for a bit and see if anybody catches your eye?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m  _ hungry!  _ Anathema thought that I’d want a nice  _ mouse  _ for breakfast and tried to feed me one, but I told  _ her-”  _

“Wait… you can still eat human food?” the prince interrupted. He looked vaguely surprised. “I mean, you can’t even properly  _ chew!”  _

Looking at the tiny snake on his shoulder, Aziraphale tended to almost forget that Crowley was still  _ human,  _ despite not currently looking like one. His friend was no  _ true  _ serpent, but a  _ person  _ with a soul. It must have been so embarrassing and humiliating to be offered a rat, and treated like a garden-variety garter snake. Aziraphale’s skin crawled at the thought of how he’d feel had  _ he  _ been the one cursed. A gentle nudge on his cheek from a smoothe, serpentine head brought him back to reality.

“Hey, angel, you went somewhere for a minute there,” Crowley said softly with what almost looked like a concerned smile. “Are you okay?”

Aziraphale stared at his friend for a moment with slight awe.  _ Crowley  _ was the one having a horrible go of things, yet there he sat trying to comfort his very-much-still-human best friend. 

The prince answered, newly determined to treat Crowley the same as if he were still in a human body, “Y-yes, I’m alright, dear boy. I was just thinking about what you said. Would you like to visit the market and get some  _ proper  _ food?”

_ “Yesssssss!”  _ Crowley replied, flopping about in overly dramatic relief. “Let’s go, I am  _ dying!” _

A wave of affection slammed into Aziraphale like it’d physically punched him in the chest. “Oh stop acting so hammy.”

The two of them strolled down wide, cobblestone streets until they came to an open square where squat, wooden stalls lined the walkway.

“Ooh!  _ Ooh!  _ Get some wine!” Crowley exclaimed, pointing at a woman with long, blond hair holding a bottle aloft.

Aziraphale’s brow creased in admonition. “Wine is not a suitable breakfast.”

The snake around his neck angled his head upwards until they were staring at each other eye-to-eye. “Then get some fruit too or something,” Crowley said, tapping his companion’s chin with his blunt snout. “I haven’t had a proper drink in  _ dayssss.” _

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh  _ fine,  _ you terror,” he acquiesced, exasperated.

Crowley gave a little “wahoo!” and slithered down the front of Aziraphale’s chest to hide in his shirt pocket. Aziraphale drew his hood a little closer around his head to hide his face as he approached the woman running the stall.

“Hey there, kid,” she said haughtily, crossing her arms. “What are you in the mood for?”

“I’d like a bottle of apple wine as well as two oranges,” Aziraphale said, holding out three coins.

The woman eyed his money with distaste. “It’s gonna be  _ twice that  _ for a bottle of  _ my  _ wine.”

“Why that’s outrageous!” Aziraphale said, nonetheless pulling out his coin purse. “I happen to know for a  _ fact  _ that there’s no shortage of apples  _ or  _ grapes in this region to drive up prices. This is blatant profiteering!”

The stall-owner cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Your point? You want to buy something or not? Otherwise, move aside.”

Aziraphale grumbled, but fished out three more coins and smacked them onto the stall. The woman handed over a bottle, as well as two oranges, and Aziraphale stepped out of the line. He noticed Crowley peeking his head out of his pocket and staring at the woman as they walked away.

_ “Please  _ tell me you aren’t thinking that  _ she’s  _ your True Love,” the prince said, looking apprehensive. “I mean, I know you have a thing for blondes, but…”

“Nonono! She’s too selfish! _ My  _ True Love will be someone generous,” Crowley objected, wriggling his way out of Aziraphale’s pocket to climb up his arm and wrap around the stem of the wine bottle.

“You have  _ excellent  _ taste in partners, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He sat down on a wooden bench and began working the cork out of the bottle.

Once the obstruction was removed, he titled the mouth of the bottle a little to allow Crowley to squeeze his head through to lap at the pale yellow liquid within. While his friend helped himself, Aziraphale looked back to the stall he had just visited.

A girl, not even a teenager, with wild black curls and wide brown eyes offered a coin to the vendor, asking to buy a piece of fruit for herself. The vendor just shrugged her shoulders.

“Sorry. That’s not enough,”

The girl’s face fell at the same time Crowley freed his head from the bottle with a pop.

_ “Oh  _ that’ssssss the  _ good stuff,”  _ the snake groaned, his eyes rolling closed. “Be an angel and gimme an orange piece. I don’t have thumbs or I’d do it myself.”

“Right, of course…” Aziraphale mumbled, staring intently at the girl as she tried to haggle with the vendor. “Give me a moment.”

He pulled out the smaller of the two oranges he had purchased and peeled the skin back with his thumbnails. With a faint spray of juice, he passed a wedge to Crowley, who clamped his jaws around it eagerly and began swallowing it whole. Aziraphale looked back to the girl who seemed to have given up on her attempts at acquiring something sweet, and was now trudging away forlornly.

Whilst his friend was otherwise distracted with his tiny breakfast, the prince left Crowley on the bench, climbed to his feet, and half-jogged to catch up to the girl. “Excuse me, miss!”

“Huh?” The girl scrubbed at her face with a hand. She tried to put on a smile. “What do you need, sir?”

Aziraphale crouched down in front of her, holding out his orange. “I seem to have accidentally purchased too much fruit earlier. I’d hate for this to go to waste, so would you do me a favor and take this?”

“Really?” the girl asked. She sounded excited. “Oranges are my  _ favorite!  _ Thank you!”

“Oh no, thank  _ you _ , dear girl. You’re really doing me quite the favor,” Aziraphale emphasized.

The girl ran off with one more parting “thanks” and Aziraphale returned to his bench. In the time he’d been gone, Crowley had fully consumed his wedge and was trying to work another piece off with a fang.

“Oi! Angel! Where’d you go? I need your precious thumbs!” he said agitatedly.

“Sorry, dear, allow me,”

Aziraphale split a second wedge and held it up for Crowley to take. The snake almost did so, but then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Didn’t you have some fruit too?” he blurted out suddenly. He gave a glance to his friend who was simply smiling serenely.

“Oh, I gave it away,” Aziraphale said, his eyes darting towards where he’d last seen the little girl.

“You  _ wot?!”  _ Crowley exclaimed, baffled.

“I gave it away,” the blond explained sheepishly. “That  _ awful  _ woman at the stall was refusing to lower her prices a little for a child who wanted to buy some fruit but didn’t have enough money, so I gave her mine.”

Crowley stared at him in silence for a moment, then lifted up on his tail. He pinched the corner of his orange wedge with his fangs, and pressed it against Aziraphale’s lips.

“Well, can’t let such selflessness go unrewarded,” Crowley began around a mouthful of tangy, pulpy fruit. “We can share mine. Go on, it’s too big for me to eat alone, anyways.”

Aziraphale laughed and bit down on the proffered wedge, his lips grazing against Crowley’s snout.

“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate the kind offer,”

“‘M not kind!” Crowley argued, gesticulating wildly with his tail. “You’re my besssst friend and I don’t want you to go hungry is all.”

Aziraphale graciously did  _ not  _ point out that was what kindness  _ was,  _ and instead ate his piece in silence, before breaking off another for Crowley.

The King of Ifrann could now properly chew as the second thread of the curse snapped away.


	4. Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley receives his first round of kisses (and promptly proceeds to mess it all up).

Song Recommended for This Chapter: ["Edgar Builds a Business" - Paul Shapera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8ECi_e1GDE)

***~*~*~*~***

Aziraphale wiped the sticky-sweet orange juice off his fingers and stood from the bench.

“I think it’s best we get started on searching the city for your True Love, don’t you think?” he asked, pulling Crowley’s head out of the wine bottle.

“Oi!” the serpent objected, frustrated. “I was still drinking that!”

“Oh hush. It’s not like you could finish it all anyway,” Aziraphale tutted, holding it at arm’s length.

Crowley groaned and flopped onto his back, exposing his red underbelly to the sun. His protests only increased when his friend re-corked the bottle and tucked it into his pack. When that didn’t seem to cease what he saw as a  _ massive  _ betrayal, Crowley reluctantly turned back over.

“Fine. What have you got in mind for today?” he asked.

By way of answer, Aziraphale climbed onto the bench to stand atop it, scooped Crowley up in his hands, and began shouting to the people gathered in the market.

“Step right up, my good people! Kiss a Snake, Win a King!”

_ “What are you  _ **_doing?!”_ ** Crowley hissed. Aziraphale simply hefted him higher. “You’re gonna get us thrown in an  _ asylum!”  _

“Do keep quiet, dear, or we might get accused of witchcraft,” the blond whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Most people rolled their eyes and ignored the strange cloaked man ranting about kisses, but a few of them watched him with bemused expressions.

Some even had a flicker of interest in their eyes.

Aziraphale took note of these individuals, and doubled-down on his speech. “Good people of Nemah’s capital, I have before you a  _ magical thing.  _ This is no ordinary snake…”

“I’ll say,” Crowley snickered quietly, straightening himself up a little to show off his shiny scales.

His friend ignored his little quip and continued.

“This snake is actually a  _ king  _ who’s been ensorcelled with a curse!” he declared. He did his best to throw in a little  _ panache. _

One of the villagers raised their hand. “Where’s he from?”

“P-pardon?” Aziraphale stuttered, already fumbling. In hindsight, he probably should have gotten their stories straight. Last thing they needed was word getting out to the Witch that Crowley was actively trying to break his curse.

“I said…” the villager began. “‘Where is he  _ from?’  _ Ya know, where’s his kingdom?”

The two men (well, one  _ snake-shaped  _ man) shared a worried glance. Crowley gestured something with his tail, but it was indecipherable.

“He… he rules a… a  _ magical kingdom,”  _ Aziraphale said hurriedly. Crowley face-tailed as his friend swept his free hand out in a wide arc. “His realm is far,  _ far  _ beyond the western horizon; where the sun meets the sea!”

Most people still seemed disinterested, but a few more had perked up at the mention of a mystical land straight out of a storybook. A small child, her hands fisted in her mother’s skirts, jumped up and down excitedly.

“How do we break the curse?”

Aziraphale winked. “Why, the way  _ any  _ curse is broken, my dear. True Love’s Kiss.” The girl squealed and broke free from her mother to charge towards Crowley. Aziraphale nearly tumbled off the bench keeping him out of reach of grabby, sticky hands. “Ah-ah, my girl! True Love’s Kiss only works if you’re an  _ adult!” _

The girl pouted, and was led away by her red-faced mother. Another villager raised his hand.

“How do we know it won’t just bite us?” he asked nervously. “That snake looks venomous.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, frowning disapprovingly at the young man. “Good sir, my friend is not an  _ ‘it’.  _ He has a  _ name,  _ you know!”

“What is it?” a woman asked eagerly. Aziraphale berated himself for once again not thinking ahead.

“His name is… er… Crawley,”

_ “Crawley?!”  _ the Ifrannian King whispered angrily.

Aziraphale shot him an apologetic glance before turning back to the woman.

“His name is Crawley, and I can assure you good people that he shall not harm you. Observe,” Before any of the assembled people could stop him, Aziraphale held Crowley to his face and planted a lingering kiss directly on the front of his snout as if it were a pair of lips.

The third thread of the curse snapped away and the little black snake found he could now blush.

He went limp as a flustered noodle in his friend’s hand, who held him aloft triumphantly.

Several more people had gathered around, amazed at the sight of a man who could kiss a serpent and  _ not  _ get envenomated. There were, however, still a few skeptics.

“Ah, this is obviously some kind of scam,” a woman scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s gonna charge us some money to kiss his pet snake.”

Crowley hissed in outrage at being called a “pet”, but Aziraphale silenced his protestations with a gentle pat.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, madame, but I have no intentions of  _ charging  _ for a kiss that could potentially save my friend,” he sniffed derisively. Crowley nodded his head, and a few people gasped in shock at the movement. Aziraphale’s face broke out into a wide smile. “So… who wants to go first?”

***~*~*~*~***

One of the first to come forth for a kiss was a man with large brown eyes and a shockingly youthful face.

“You’re  _ sure  _ he’s not gonna bite me?” he asked.

As a joke, Crowley nipped at the lad’s nose, causing him to stumble back before running off with a shriek.

Aziraphale stifled a laugh, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for the poor fellow. “Really, my dear, did you  _ have  _ to make a fool of him?”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said determinedly.  _ “My  _ True Love will be brave. The kind of person who won’t  _ hesitate  _ to kiss me in this form _.” _

***~*~*~*~***

The next person to attempt a kiss eyed Crowley up and down, but it was clear she was unimpressed. She flipped a lock of shoulder-length brown hair behind herself.

“Is he handsome?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale asked with confusion. “‘Handsome’?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “When I kiss him and he turns back to a human, is he a  _ handsome  _ human?”

“Yes? He has hair that could put rubies to shame and eyes like spun gold,” Aziraphale answered honestly. Neither him nor the woman noticed Crowley’s bashful muttering. “What does  _ that  _ have to do with anything?”

“I’m sure you understand why I wouldn’t want a husband who’s not  _ beautiful,” _ the woman said.

Crowley reared up as if to bite her, but Aziraphale beat him to it. The blond cradled Crowley close to his chest and angled his body away from her.

“No, I  _ don’t  _ understand. Even if Crawley  _ weren’t  _ beautiful - which he  _ is  _ \- he would  _ still  _ be a worthy spouse.  _ Certainly  _ moreso than  _ you!”  _ he declared, eyes narrowed in distrust.

The woman immediately stomped away with a scandalized huff and Crowley stuck his tongue out at her retreating back.

“Thanks for chasing her off, angel,” he said, delighted at his friend’s show of force.

“Think nothing of it,” Aziraphale replied. “Surely your True Love can’t be someone so  _ vain?” _

“Definitely not,”

***~*~*~*~***

The next woman to approach was, quite honestly, gorgeous.

Long, dark hair cascaded down her back in waves and her eyes shone in the sun like polished bronze. She smiled at “Crawley” with soft, plump pink lips that the little serpent eagerly looked forward to feeling on the top of his head.

“So, if I kiss him and it breaks the curse, will that make me a queen?” she giggled.

She flashed another charming smile that had Crowley nodding eagerly. Aziraphale fought not to roll his eyes at the  _ shameless  _ display of flirtation. 

Who flirted with a snake? Honestly?

The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, winked at man  _ and  _ serpent alike, then pecked the space between Crowley’s eyes.

Nothing.

Crowley visibly drooped and the woman cooed in sympathy. At the sight of his best friend’s disappointment, Aziraphale felt the tiny knot of bitterness in his chest loosen.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. And to you as well, madame. Thank you for trying,” he said in an attempt to comfort them both.

The woman made a dainty noise of consideration, then lifted knowing eyes to Aziraphale’s.

“Perhaps it didn’t work because he’s already in love?” she suggested.

Crowley reared back and Aziraphale made a sound like someone was slowly squeezing a mouse to death. The woman tittered, and then was gone with a flounce of her skirts.

***~*~*~*~***

Hours later, the sun was beginning to set, plenty of kisses had been received, and none had worked. Crowley was frustrated, rapidly approaching cranky, and Aziraphale was ready to go find an inn for the night.

“Perhaps we could continue trying tomorrow?” the blond offered, appraising the fading light around them.

“Yeah, that’d probably be a good-”

“Excuse me?”

Crowley and Aziraphale both perked up at the man walking towards them. He was a touch on the shorter side, with tanned skin from time spent in the sun and sable, curly hair clipped close to his head.

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m assuming you’re here to try and break my friend’s curse?”

Crowley gave a wiggle and presented his head for a kiss. The man, however, shuffled nervously.

“Actually… I’m not here for him,” he admitted.

Aziraphale and Crowley  _ both  _ tilted their heads in confusion.

“Then what  _ do _ you need?” the human of the pair asked, a polite smile spreading across his face.

The dark-haired man cleared his throat, struggling to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “I was wondering if… well… are the kisses only for  _ him  _ or can I…?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored. Crowley bristled. A strange, burning sensation erupted in his chest and his breath hissed from between clenched fangs. The man and Aziraphale both startled at the sudden sound of it. 

“Terribly sorry for Crawly. He’s just a little tired,” the prince explained, trying - and failing - to excuse his friend’s sudden behavior.

“It’s fine. Sooo… is that kiss still on the table?” asked the man, stepping a bit closer.

Aziraphale stiffened as Crowley’s mouth twitched in a desperate attempt at a sneer. The King of Ifrann was quite suddenly possessed with the desire to sink his fangs into the interloper’s calf and see him scream in pain. The rush of this want was so overwhelming that it temporarily blocked out all other physical sensation for a split second.

Unfortunately, that second was all it took for the man to place a careful, questioning hand on the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist.

_ That does it! _

“Oi! Get away from him!” Crowley snapped.

The man yanked his hand back as if it had been scalded. He gaped, open-mouthed at the little black snake on the bench that, until now, he hadn’t thought possible of speech.

Aziraphale immediately scooped up Crowley to cradle close to his chest. “Oh dear… I don’t suppose I can give you that kiss in exchange for forgetting you ever heard that?”

“D-d-demon…” the man stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Crowley.  _ “Demon!!” _

“I think it best we make ourselves scarce, dear, before the guards show up,” Aziraphale gulped.

“Couldn’t agree more!”

Saying so, the two of them booked a mad dash for the city gates, leaving the nameless man (still shrieking about demonically-possessed snakes) far behind.


	5. Just Around the Riverbend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale take the plunge.

Song Recommended for This Chapter: ["All is Found" - Evan Rachel Wood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1HL26K1nL0)

***~*~*~*~***

Aziraphale and Crowley cleared the eastern gate out of Hemel in record time, and continued running until the city walls were  _ well  _ out of sight. Aziraphale would have been perfectly content to  _ keep  _ running right up to the point where his shins crumbled to dust beneath him, but the two of them were stopped by the Alabaster River, which circled the entire city.

So wide as to be impassable by wading or swimming, the pair were forced to halt their exodus in favor of staring forlornly across the white-capped water.

Crowley sighed, his eyes sweeping the dusking horizon. “Sun’s gone down. You think any ferryman is still offering passage?” he asked as he looked to Aziraphale from where he perched on his shoulder.

“I don’t think so. Our best bet would be to walk along the bank and look for a bridge,” Aziraphale replied, panting and trying to catch his breath.

“So we just… go either left or right?”

“It would appear so.  _ Surely  _ we’ll reach a bridge  _ eventually,” _

For a moment, neither of them could agree on which direction to go, before Aziraphale remembered that he was the only one of the two of them in possession of  _ legs,  _ so he decided to go right.

The two of them ambled along for an hour or so (bickering the entire time about the merits of right versus left), when, just as the last of the light was beginning to fade, a rope suspension bridge came into sight.

_ “Finally!”  _ groaned Crowley. “Let’s get across and set up our tent for the night on the other bank.”

“I couldn’t agree more,”

As they approached, however, a trio of women materialized out of the gloom. The apparent leader of the three, a middle-aged woman with eyes that seemed to be perpetually narrowed in distaste, stepped forward and held up a hand.

“Halt!” she declared loudly. “If you want to use our bridge, you’ll have to pay the toll.”

Aziraphale pulled a shocked face. “A  _ toll?!  _ I do believe you are mistaken, good madame. This public bridge has no such thing!” he retorted, outraged.

“Careful, Aziraphale. I don’t think this a strictly  _ legal  _ toll, if you catch my drift,” Crowley cautiously whispered into his ear.

“Yeah, well, if you want to use it, you still have to pay,” a second woman said, stepping up beside the first. Her thin mouth quirked up at the corner in a sneer. “Normally we’d only charge a few coins, but seeing as you had the gall to backsass us, we’ll take the whole purse.”

Aziraphale took a step backwards, his one hand going to the pommel of his sword and the other gently pressing Crowley closer. “Come on, just do what they say. We’re outnumbered here,” the serpent said nervously.

The third woman heard him, and her green eyes blew wide in shock.

“Holy Hell! Lookit that! A talking animal!” she exclaimed as her cohorts’ eyes flew to the small snake wrapped around Aziraphale’s throat like a choker necklace.

The first woman turned to the others. “Forget the toll! How much do you think that thing will sell for?”

Faster than any of the assembled could blink, Aziraphale drew his sword from its scabbard and levelled it at the crooks. 

There was a tense moment, before the three of them broke into howls of derisive laughter, producing their own weapons.

“This doughy little fuck actually thinks he stands a chance!” one of them cackled, gesturing with her dagger.

“Aziraphale… we need to run!” Crowley whimpered, pressing as close to his friend’s pulse as he could get.

The prince, however, ignored him.

“You  _ will  _ step aside, and you  _ will  _ permit us to pass unharmed,” he intoned, hefting his sword higher. “Otherwise, I will be forced to use this.”

The women were not impressed, and began separating in an attempt to flank their targets.

Then, Aziraphale flicked the sword and the blade promptly burst into red-gold flames with a  _ whoosh  _ of heat. Crowley, and the muggers alike, erupted into terrified screams. Aziraphale brandished the weapon, his face cast in a fierce glow from the fire. He truly looked like his nickname, like an avenging angel.

He took a decisive step forward and the women scrambled out of the way of the flames. Aziraphale never let them out of his sight as he walked backwards onto the bridge. Once it became clear the brigands had no intention of following him, he re-sheathed the blade, extinguishing the fire.

“Holy  _ shit!  _ That was…” Crowley cast about, looking for the right word.  _ “Incredible!” _

Aziraphale gave a smug smile. “Hopefully  _ that  _ will encourage them not to rob passersby in the future!” he said with a huff.

He continued walking backward down the bridge, just in case the nefarious trio decided to try and stab him in the back. One of them stepped forward, like she was going to come after them, but stopped by the side of one of the support pillars keeping the plank bridge suspended above the water.

_ “Ha!  _ They’re scared of us!” Crowley announced triumphantly, sticking his tongue out.

Almost as soon as he said that, there came the glint of a blade, followed by the sound of severed rope. The bridge gave a great lurch and tilted sideways.

Crowley would have gone tumbling into the raging waters below had Aziraphale’s hand not shot out and caught him mid-air. The blond braced himself against the still attached side of the bridge and shouted desperately, “L-let’s not be too hasty! Perhaps I could come back there and we could strike a deal? I  _ am  _ a prince, you know!”

The rejection of his offer came in the form of the  _ other _ rope being cut.

Aziraphale and Crowley had half a second where they were suspended in the air before gravity caught up with them and they both tumbled down into the chilly waters of the Alabaster River, along with the bridge.

As the water closed in over their heads, Crowley coiled around Aziraphale’s wrist and squeezed for all he was worth. Aziraphale, for his part, took the hand his friend was wrapped around and brought it close to his chest as he fought and swam one-handed for the surface.

His head broke free with a gasp, and he lifted Crowley above the water as high as he could. The pair were helpless to do anything but fight to keep breathing, the powerful current sucking them downstream at a truly frightening speed. “Aziraphale! What do we do now?!” Crowley shouted above the roaring rapids.

“We… we have to get to shore!” Aziraphale sputtered, water going up his nose.

_ “No!  _ I just thought we’d stay here and drown!”

“Do  _ not  _ make me let go of you!”

The prince gulped down a few breaths before twisting his body around so he could float on his back, legs angled downstream. With the arm not currently being constricted by a petrified serpent, Aziraphale began side-swimming towards the nearest bank. 

Neither of them spotted the large rock until Aziraphale had slammed bodily into it, bruising his left arm something fierce and sending the two of them back under. He felt the squeezing around his good arm disappear as he tumbled head over heels further down the river. After a terrifying few seconds, which felt like entire  _ minutes,  _ Aziraphale was able to resurface.

Crowley, however, was nowhere to be seen.

With the last scrap of strength his battered body possessed, Aziraphale was able to paddle gracelessly to shore and haul himself onto the muddy bank. He spared no time to catch his breath, before he was standing up on shaky legs to shout his friend’s name.

“Crowley!  _ Crowley!!” _

It was too dark to make out anything, but that didn’t stop Aziraphale from stumbling alongside the river’s edge, desperately scanning the murky waters for any sign of his lost serpent. 

It was an ultimately futile effort. 

That didn’t stop him from trying, however, until his foot slid on a patch of mud and he went down hard on his hands and knees.

“Crowley…”

Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut. Tears began to pool behind his eyelids. He didn’t bother fighting them back, and instead let them come. 

He jerked in surprise, then, when he felt something  _ squirming  _ from inside his waterlogged knapsack. He flung it from his shoulders with a noise of disgust, and several sodden possessions came rolling out.

One of which happened to be a small, black snake.

Crowley hacked up a squirt of water and shook his head as if he were a dog, rather than a reptile. “Bloody  _ Hell  _ that’s cold!”

Aziraphale stared in shocked silence for all of three seconds before he practically exploded.

“You- you  _ fiend!  _ I thought that- that- You didn’t hear me  _ screaming  _ for you?!” he shrieked, smacking his palm against the ground.

Crowley gestured with his tail at the pack. “It’s kinda hard to hear  _ anything  _ when you’re in there!” he protested. “Are you gonna start a fire so we can dry off or are you just going to keep nagging me?”

Aziraphale gripped the air, imagining wringing his friend out like a wet rag. Then the fight went out of him with a puff of breath and he set about setting up camp for the night.

***~*~*~*~***

The tent was soaked, and would need to be hung out over a tree branch overnight to dry. Thankfully, the sky was clear so it wasn’t needed. Aziraphale’s bedroll was of a similar state, but thanks to the fire he’d built (the matches were ruined, so he’d used his sword) it dried out quickly. Most of the food had been ruined, apart from a few pieces of raw fruit, so dinner was a meager affair.

The most important commodity of all, the map, luckily remained intact by virtue of it being cloth instead of paper. Aziraphale found himself mentally thanking Anathema for her foresight. On his bedroll beside the prince, close to the fire and munching happily away on a wedge of apple, Crowley jabbed with the tip of his tail at the map.

“Qiell’s pretty close by,” he pointed out. “If we leave tomorrow morning and head west, we should be there by the afternoon.”

“Excellent idea, my dear,” Aziraphale answered back, spreading the map on the ground close enough to the campfire to dry, but not enough to risk burning it.

He climbed to his feet and began stripping out of his damp clothes to lay out to dry in a similar fashion. 

Crowley, who had spent plenty of summers swimming with his friend - both as bare as the day they were born - was not bothered in the least by the cavalier display of nudity. Once his clothes were arranged in a suitable fashion, Aziraphale crawled under his bedroll covers. The fire had toasted them up nicely and he burrowed happily into their warmth.

“Get comfy, angel, I’ll keep an eye out in case those muggers come back,” Crowley said, perching himself atop his friend’s chest to stand guard.

“And what do you intend to do if they  _ do  _ return?” Aziraphale chuckled. “Bite them?”

“Nah. I’ll just wake you up so you can fend them off with your sword again,”

“And how do you intend to wake me up?”

“Like  _ thisssss,” _

Aziraphale squawked when he felt Crowley’s forked tongue tickle his ear, and the blond had to suppress the urge to leap out of his bedroll.

“Alright, alright, you’ve convinced me!” he laughed, pushing the snake’s face away from his own. Then, his smile fell. “How did you manage to get into my knapsack? When I couldn’t feel you anymore, I thought… thought…”

“Well, I let go, but not by accident. I climbed into your pack because I figured it would be easier for you to get us to shore if you had both hands free,” Crowley admitted, stretching himself out along the length of his friend’s torso.

“You scared me half to death! I was afraid you’d been lost,” Aziraphale tutted, running a hand along Crowley’s spine.

The serpent’s heart did a funny little thing at the other’s words; a funny little thing he couldn’t seem to control. Some part of his mind told him that surrendering that control would be a good thing.

“Ah, you won’t be rid of me  _ that  _ easily,” he reassured Aziraphale with a gentle headbutt to his hand. “I’ll be a nuisance for quite a bit longer.”

The prince let his eyes fall shut. The tension he’d been carrying since they were swept away loosed under Crowley’s words. “Thank God for that,” he sighed. “I’d be quite lost without you.”

The fourth thread of the curse snapped away as Crowley settled in for his watch shift.

***~*~*~*~***

The twittering of birds and the sun filtering in through the trees by the riverbank were what woke Aziraphale the next morning. From close to his head came the sounds of faint, hissing snores. He peeled open his eyes just a slit, then closed them again with a groan. Crowley, that incorrigible snake, must have fallen asleep during the night.

_ Good thing he’s a king. He’d certainly be a terrible guard otherwise. _

Seeing as they weren’t attacked in the night, Aziraphale let the little hiccup slide and moved to sit up.

When he tried to do so, however, he felt a heavy weight pinning him in place by his chest.

_ What in the…? _

He opened his eyes fully.

Crowley -  _ human Crowley -  _ was sprawled naked across his chest, desire-red hair spilling around his shoulder in familiar waves. 

Aziraphale must have made a strange noise because Crowley’s eyes fluttered open. “Agh… sssssssorry. I dozed-”

The words died in his throat when he caught sight of his own hands in front of his face. He went stiff. The two of them locked eyes.

And then started screaming.


	6. For the Dancing and the Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale make some new friends!

Song Recommended for this Chapter: ["Into the Night" - Santana ft. Chad Kroeger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQ9nQNx0KEs)

***~*~*~*~***

If anyone had been taking a stroll down the banks of the banks of the Alabaster river one early November morning, they would have been privy to the sounds of two voices raised in hysterics.

_ “AAAAAAA!!” _

_ “AAAAAA!” _

_ “Why are we screaming?!” _

_ “I don’t know it just seemed thematically appropriate given the circumstances!” _

Crowley and Aziraphale fell silent, the last of their shrieks echoing off the surrounding trees. Still draped atop his friend like a weighted blanket, Crowley lifted his hands to his face and turned them over.

“I… I’m human again,” he said breathlessly. “I’m  _ me  _ again!”

“My dear, you were  _ always  _ a human,” Aziraphale replied, almost condescendingly. He reached up to thumb the space right below Crowley’s amber eye. “You just  _ looked  _ a little different, that’s all.”

The redhead furrowed his brow, hands coming to rest on Aziraphale’s chest. “But… but  _ how?!  _ I didn’t get kissed last night by my True Love! Unless…” His mouth went slack in mute astonishment, and he seized his best friend’s face in his hands. “That’s it!  _ Angel,  _ it’s-” 

“It’s  _ what?”  _ Aziraphale asked, eyes wide and searching the other’s face.

Crowley pressed his lips firmly to his friend’s forehead, then jumped out of their inadvertently shared bedroll. He was still completely naked as he paced a circle around the makeshift campsite, hands slicing wildly through the air.

“That woman! The pretty one who teased me!  _ She  _ was the last one to have kissed me, so it’s  _ got  _ to be her!” he babbled, squatting down to rifle through the rucksack for some spare clothing.

“But that doesn’t make any  _ sense!”  _ Aziraphale objected desperately, propping himself up on his elbows. He watched Crowley pull on a shirt and trousers that were too big on his narrow, lanky frame and tried not to laugh at how silly it made him look. “If  _ she  _ was your True Love, why did you only turn human  _ now?”  _

Crowley shot him a look that practically screamed “who knows?” and shrugged. “Delayed reaction?”

“That sounds utterly ridiculous, but I shan’t argue with results so long as you’re happy,” Aziraphale said, arching an eyebrow.

“I am. Or at least, I  _ will be.  _ Just as soon as I find her and we get mar-”

Between one blink and the next, Crowley had disappeared, leaving behind only a pile of empty clothing. Aziraphale leapt out of the bedroll with a strangled cry.

_ What just happened?! _

“Crowley!”

“A-Aziraphale?” The pile gave a lurch as a tiny, black, serpentine head poked out of one of the shirtsleeves. “What happened? Why are you ssssssso big again?”

The blond prince sunk to his knees beside Crowley and scooped him up in trembling hands.

“Don’t quote me on this…” he said, dread washing over him. “But I don’t think your curse is  _ quite  _ as broken as we’d hoped.”

“Wha-?” Crowley craned his head to look back at the rest of his body, twisting his coils as if desperately searching for a leg or two.  _ “No!” _

He flung himself dramatically forwards until he was little more than a limp noodle dangling in Aziraphale’s hand.

“Oh, my poor dear…” the blond cooed, running his fingertips along Crowley’s head. “Surely this brief transformation meant  _ something?” _

“What’sss the  _ point?”  _ the snake asked, looking up at Aziraphale through tired eyes. “I had my body back for only a few  _ minutesssssss.  _ What if thisss is all I can expect? What if… what if I  _ never  _ break the cursssse? Am I doomed to enjoy my humanity only minutes at a time?”

“No! I  _ refuse  _ to believe that!” Aziraphale snapped. Crowley turned a weary, yet inquisitive eye to him. “We obviously did  _ something  _ right! What if… what if the curse is gradually breaking because we’re getting closer to your True Love? Proximity-wise!”

Crowley lifted his head a little, a shard of hope returning. “Y-yeah… yeah!” he said quickly. “You might be right!”

Aziraphale hummed happily at the sight of his dearest friend visibly perking up. “Of course I’m right! I’m the smart one,” he said.

“Does that make  _ me  _ the pretty one?” Crowley joked, already back to his old self.

“Oh there’s no contest there,” Aziraphale replied, returning his hands to run reassuringly along the small snake’s length. “You’ve  _ always  _ been the pretty one.”

The King of Ifrann preened at the praise.

“This could be good for us,” he explained, pressing up into the gentle touch on his back. “If I keep popping in and out of my human form, we’ll know we’re close!”

Aziraphale tittered. “Just like a bizarre compass. You can be our very own Polaris,” he said with an affectionate smile.

***~*~*~*~***

Breakfast was just as sparse as the evening’s previous meal, but thankfully everything was dry enough to continue their journey.

“Alright, angel, how do we get to Qiell?” Crowley asked excitedly, squirming from where he was perched atop a blond head.

Aziraphale twisted to look around. “Well, first we cross the bridge over the river, then it’s just a simple walk west along its bank until we reach the coast!”

Crowley fell silent. “Jusssst… cross the bridge?” he said quietly, and Aziraphale nodded as best he could without knocking him off. “You mean that very ssssame bridge that we fell off of? The one that was cut and is now impossssible to cross?”

Aziraphale sucked his lips behind his teeth with a squeak. After a second or two, he made a noise that almost sounded like, “mmnnn… possibly.”

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m guessing we have to head back  _ upstream, past  _ the ruined bridge,  _ hope  _ we find a ferry or another bridge, and  _ then  _ cross?” he asked agitatedly. “Am I remembering our route correctly?”

He was answered with a simple, nervous, “yep”. 

***~*~*~*~***

To pass the time while they walked, Crowley and Aziraphale played a fun little guessing game.

“Alright… I see something… green,”

“Is it a tree, angel?”

“Indeed! You’re quite good at this game,”

“Ugh…”

Crowley opened his mouth (whether to take his turn in the game or bite his friend, he hadn’t decided) when the air was suddenly filled with the sounds of hoofbeats and wheels.

Aziraphale turned around in time to see what appeared to be a large covered wagon pulled by a muscular horse coming up the road from behind them. 

At the head of the wagon, a woman with bright clothes and equally garish-colored hair held the reigns. She looked to be in her late forties to early fifties, with a kind, if slightly pouty smile. Aziraphale politely stepped out of her wagon’s path, but she slowed it to a stop in front of him anyway. “Afternoon, dear! Where are you off to?” she asked, looking down at them from her seat.

“Caravaneer. She looks friendly enough,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck from where he was curled around his shoulders.

“I’m on my way to Qiell,” the prince answered.

“What a coincidence! So are we!” the woman exclaimed, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “I own a small dance troupe, and my performers are all in the back. Would you like a ride?”

Aziraphale gave a small cry of delight. “I would! Thank you!”

The woman scooted over on the bench to make room for him as he hoisted himself up. “The name’s Marjorie, but my stage-name is Madame Tracy. What’s yours, love?”

“Aziraphale,” he replied happily.

“Like the prince?”

“Ah, er… sort of?”

Marjorie spurred her horse back into a trot. “You can’t fool me. I know it’s really you, Your Majesty.”

“That’s surprising. Most people don’t know what I look like apart from public appearances,” Aziraphale remarked, impressed.

“I’ve been to a few of your royal parades, and I  _ never  _ forget a face,” the redheaded woman said. She glanced out of the corner of her eyes. “And what about your little friend there? What’s  _ his  _ name?”

Aziraphale held the snake a bit closer to himself. “His name is Crawley. He’s my, er…”

“Now don’t you lie to me again, Your Majesty. He’s no ordinary serpent, is he?” Marjorie tutted.

“Wait… you know who I am?” Crowley gasped.

“No I don’t, I’m afraid. I just know that there’s something hovering around you. Something that no other animal I’ve met before has. Don’t bother asking how I can see it, it’s not something I quite understand myself,”

Crowley sighed at the woman’s words. “That would be the curse. I can’t turn back into a human, at least not fully, until I receive a kiss from my True Love,” he grumbled.

Marjorie pressed her face closer to him, squinting like she was trying to puzzle something out.

“Hm… this curse is already starting to fray around the edges. It looks like… like a tapestry that’s slowly coming unwoven,” she mumbled.

“We suspect that the curse breaks down the closer we get to Crowley’s True Love,” Aziraphale said proudly.

Marjorie made a noise like she didn’t quite believe him, but was too polite to say so. She returned her attention to driving the cart and the three of them rode on in silence.

“You two are quite lucky we met,” she said suddenly, breaking the stillness. “The bridge we passed a little ways back had collapsed into the river. It was the only one for miles and the next one is several days’ journey on foot.”

“Yes… how fortunate,” Aziraphale giggled nervously, shrinking back into his seat with embarrassment.

“As it stands, we’ll be at the new bridge by tomorrow,” Marjorie said cheerfully. “Later tonight when we set up camp, you can meet the rest of my performers. Maybe one of  _ them  _ is your friend’s True Love. Maybe  _ I  _ am!” Crowley gulped, and then the wagoneer burst out into laughter. “I’m just teasing, my dear. I already have my eyes on someone else.”

The prince slumped a little in relief. It wasn’t that Marjorie wasn’t a lovely woman, she was just old enough to be Crowley’s  _ mother  _ and age-gap relationships weren’t quite his cup of tea. He’d want his future spouse to be close in age to him so they could have as much time together as possible!

***~*~*~*~***

As thanks for the ride, Aziraphale helped set up camp when the time came for them to do so that evening. As he did, he met the other three members of Madame Tracy’s dance troupe. One was a woman with dark skin and the sweetest smile Aziraphale had ever seen. She kissed Crowley without a moment’s hesitation after hearing his story, simply because the high romance of it all had been too irresistible. Alas, the curse remained.

The second was another woman whose eyes were heavy with laugh-lines. She’d first thought Crowley was just a  _ very  _ realistic puppet, until Aziraphale handed him to her and she could see firsthand that he was genuine. She kissed him with nervous, trembling lips, but this one failed as well.

The third and final dancer was a man with so much thick, cinnamon-colored hair that it kept flopping down into his face and he had to hold it away from his head as he kissed Crowley. When nothing happened, he’d shrugged apologetically with a, “Sorry, mate. I’m sure you were cute.”

Once the tents were set up, the horse seen to, and the awkwardness from the failed kisses faded, the troupe and its guests sat around the campfire sharing dinner and exchanging stories about their travels. Aziraphale listened with rapt attention. Crowley, for his part, snuggled into his friend’s lap and was perfectly content to sleep the rest of the night away.

He was pulled from his rest, however, by the woman with the lovely smile standing up and walking over to them. She held her hand out to Aziraphale.

“We all usually practice our routine a bit before we bed down for the night. Want to join? It’s a lot of fun!” she giggled.

“N-no thank you! I don’t really dance,” the prince deflected, a nervous gleam reflected in his eyes from the firelight.

“Ah, go on, angel!” Crowley said, squirming out of his lap and onto the ground. “I am  _ eager  _ to see if your dancing’s any better  _ here  _ than it is at all those boring Galas.”

“You  _ know  _ it isn’t, you terrible fiend!” Aziraphale hissed.

Despite his objections, a bit of dancing  _ did  _ sound fun. He removed his cloak and covered Crowley with it to keep him warm in his absence as he took the woman’s hands and let himself be pulled to his feet.

The other two dancers had already paired up and were twirling around the fire in some kind of jumping motion and Aziraphale’s partner started trying to show him the steps. Crowley watched on in amusement as his friend almost stepped on his partner’s toe and overcorrected by pinwheeling his arms as he stumbled back.

“He’s got  _ some  _ potential, I’ll give him that,” Madame Tracy said quietly, sitting down beside Crowley.

“You should see him attempt a waltz,”

Together, they watched as Aziraphale’s steps gradually became more confident and his moves more graceful. His face, once rigid with tension, was now relaxed and open. He bowed sideways at the waist, arms thrown out at his side and his partner did the same before they joined hands for a slow spin.

“Lovely,” Madame Tracy sighed happily.

Crowley continued watching Aziraphale with a soft, affectionate stare. “I don’t think I’ve seen him look that happy in a while.”

The woman beside him tilted her head casually. “I have. Fairly recently, in fact,” she said with an air of nonchalance.

“Really? When?”

“All day today. Anytime he looked at you,”

Crowley had nothing to say in response to that. But the thought that Aziraphale had that unguarded smile anytime he looked at him had a blush-like warmth blooming from his snout down to his tail.

The fifth thread of the curse snapped and with a rush of displaced air, Crowley-the-human was there once more.

He didn’t notice his transformation, or even acknowledge Madame Tracy draping Aziraphale’s cloak around him to preserve his modesty. Crowley simply subconsciously tugged the garment that smelled of his friend closer to his body and thought about all the ways he could coax more of those smiles out of him.


	7. Don't Let Them Out of Your Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale finally reach Qiell, but things don't go quite according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this update! I recently started a new hospital job, and the hours are LOOOOONG. As compensation, I've doubled the length of this chapter in appreciation for your patience! ^^
> 
> CW for a character having his drink spiked with a psuedo rohypnol. It's not used for rape/non-con purposes, but be aware that the drugging DOES occur.

Song Recommended for This Chapter: ["Lost in Thoughts All Alone" - Rena Strober](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENwFAmeWEYk)

***~*~*~*~***

Qiell was a sizable town residing right where the Alabaster River met the Tubor Sea on the western end of Nemah. It had no gates or walls beyond levees to keep out the rising river tides when storms blew in from the coast, so it was little bother for Marjorie, Crowley, Aziraphale, and their troupe to enter the city proper. 

Crowley, from where he sat draped over Aziraphale’s shoulders (he had shifted back while he slept during the night) whistled in appreciation at the sight of the towering white-stone levees.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said eventually. “For all the times I’ve visited you, angel, I don’t think we’ve ever left the capital.”

“Well that’s hardly our fault. Matters of state  _ do  _ tend to take priority over travelling,” Aziraphale replied casually, brushing his fingers over his friend’s head.

“What do you call  _ this,  _ then?” Marjorie said with a giggle, slowing the wagon’s horse to a walk. “A vacation?”

“‘Helping my dearest friend reclaim his kingdom’ is what I call it,”

Marjorie blinked in surprise at the prince’s snark, then dissolved into pleased titters. They rode on for some time longer through Qiell’s streets. Everything, including the squat, sandstone buildings seemed to be covered in a fine layer of grit from the sea that had poor Crowley tasting salt everytime he scented the air. Despite this, the people were all friendly, acknowledging the troupe with polite nods or cheerful greetings. Music seemed to float from every window, and Aziraphale hummed to the snatches of tunes he could pick up.

“There’s a place down by the docks called ‘The Green Wharf’,” Marjorie said. “It’s an inn and tavern both, and attracts quite a few visitors every night. That might be a good place for you two to visit.”

“Where will you be?” Aziraphale asked, turning to look at the woman beside him.

“We’ll be there as well. The owner, Berre, has a stage for performers - minstrels and the like - and they let us use it whenever we come to town. My dancers draw quite the crowd, they do!” Marjorie said excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat.

The prince hummed in acknowledgement and returned to watching the city roll by.

***~*~*~*~***

The ride down to the docks was uneventful, though there  _ had  _ been one particularly enterprising seagull that had given Crowley a bit of a fright when it swooped too close. When the wagon pulled in front of The Green Wharf, the building’s doors were practically  _ flung  _ open as (Aziraphale could only assume this person to be) Berre marched out to greet them.

“Tracy, you old harlot! It’s been some time since last you’ve darkened my door! How have you been?” they laughed, reaching up to clasp both of the older woman’s hands in theirs.

“I’ve been well! I’d like to introduce you to two guests who have been travelling with us for the past couple of days,” Marjorie replied, gesturing to Aziraphale and Crowley. The blond prince bowed his head.

“Good afternoon. My name is Aziraphale and this handsome serpent is Crawley,” he said with a polite smile.

“Oh come now, pet. Berre here’s a trustworthy sort. You can tell them the truth,” Marjorie tutted disapprovingly, despite the mirthful shine in her eyes.

The silence hung between them for a moment before Crowley finally said, “Yeah, alright. Name’s Crowley. Been cursed. Wanna kiss?”

Berre gave no other indication that they were surprised than a slight widening of their grey eyes.

“Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day,” they said, pushing up on their tiptoes to examine the snake closer. “And, yes, I’ll take a kiss.”

Crowley lowered his head, and Berre gave it a soft peck, but nothing happened. By this point, he’d gotten used to it and it hardly bothered him when the curse remained stubbornly in place. 

“I’m sorry, dears. Hopefully this evening will get you better results,” Marjorie said sadly, patting Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I take it you’re interested in performing for me tonight?” Berre asked with a chuckle, leaning against the wagon.

“If you’re amenable!”

“I am  _ always  _ amenable,” they said magnanimously. Then they winked. “The coin you bring in from people ordering drinks while they watch the performance also doesn’t hurt.”

They turned and began walking back into the tavern, while Marjorie drove the wagon around the back of the building.

“Aziraphale, Crowley, I was wondering if you two would be willing to help me with tonight’s performance?” she asked sweetly, batting her long eyelashes. The two men sputtered.

“U-us? Whyever for?!” Aziraphale asked in a wavering voice, his face crumpling in worry.

“Because it would be a  _ great  _ way to get Crowley noticed! The dance I have in mind is simple, and can be learned in an afternoon, and all our little serpentine friend has to do is just hold on and be a prop,” the dance matron replied as the wagon ground to a halt. The serpent in question hissed angrily at being relegated to a “prop”.

“Do we really have to  _ dance,  _ though?” the blond protested, trepidation clearly written across his face. “What if I entertained in a different way? Perhaps my-”

_ “Please  _ don’t say ‘magic act’!” his friend groaned shamelessly, hiding his face with his tail. “You have  _ no  _ idea how embarrassing that is.  _ Please  _ don’t!”

“It’s  _ fun!  _ Maybe I could make someone disappear!”

“I’ll make  _ you  _ disappear…”

“Well, it’s either dancing or magic. We can’t do bo-”

Crowley  _ launched  _ himself across the space between Aziraphale and Marjorie, right into the redheaded woman’s arms. 

“We’ll take dancing, thank you!”

***~*~*~*~***

Hours later, including a full afternoon of practice, Aziraphale stood in a storage room of The Green Wharf, wringing his hands anxiously. On the other side of the door, he could hear the other dancers and Berre setting up the stage for the evening, while Marjorie (now Madame Tracy) gave directions.

“Oh… I  _ still  _ don’t know why you wouldn’t let me do my magic tricks,” he said nervously, eyes alight with manic energy.

The serpent seated on a barrel across from him tried to impart  _ some  _ level of comfort in his words.

“Look, angel, I don’t like the idea of being an  _ accessory  _ either, but we can’t exactly say ‘no’ can we? Tracy’s helped us get this far and it’d be kinda rude of us to not help her tonight,”

“You’re absolutely right, my dear,” his friend said, clasping his hands together. “I just can’t help but worry that I’ll be making an utter  _ fool  _ of myself out there. At least if  _ you  _ mess up, you can just pretend to be an actual snake and no one will think otherwise.”

“You’ll be  _ fine,  _ angel. You’ve been practicing, and it’s only  _ one  _ dance,” Crowley said, balancing himself on his tail to stare determinedly into the other man’s eyes.

There came a knock on the door, and Tracy poked her head in.

“We’re almost done wrapping up, dears,” she said, voice filled with fervent excitement. She had an unidentifiable bundle of dark cloth draped over her arm. “Your act will be third, right after Barleda and Corwen, but  _ before  _ Adis. The show is starting soon, so I’ve brought your costume for you to change into.”

Aziraphale started shaking as his eyes finally fell on the bundle. Stark terror flitted over his face. “C-costume? You never said  _ anything  _ about a costume!” he stuttered hesitantly, face falling further when he realized that Tracy fully intended to dress him up. He stumbled back, as if to physically distance himself from it.

Tracy held the clothes out towards him, beaming. “Of  _ course  _ you’re going to wear a costume, dear! You can’t perform in a simple traveler’s cloak, now can you?”

“I… I suppose not,” Aziraphale admitted, still with trepidation. He cautiously accepted the bundle. “So long as it’s not  _ too  _ outlandish.”

Tracy waved him off.

“Of  _ course  _ not! It’s just a very simple ensemble. Quite tasteful, in my opinion,” she said, already closing the door behind her to attend to her last-minute preparations.

Once he and Crowley were completely alone, Aziraphale unfurled the bundle. “So? What does it look like?” the snake asked, trying to see over his friend’s shoulder. There was a long pause.

Then…

“I can’t wear  _ this!”  _ Aziraphale shrieked. “The colour’s all  _ wrong  _ and… and why is it so  _ tight?  _ What are these sleeves even- is that a… Why is there a  _ veil?!” _

“Stop whining and put it on! I wanna see!”

He looked over his shoulder with an embarrassed pout. “But you’ll  _ make fun  _ of me!” he huffed, turning around again to hide his mortified blush.

Crowley grinned wolfishly (snakeishly?) “It can’t be  _ that bad,  _ can it?” he asked, still trying to crane his head to sneak a peek as Aziraphale hugged it protectively to his chest and out of sight.

The prince tutted and rolled his eyes, deciding that there was really no  _ point  _ in trying to save himself the humiliation, as Crowley would see the garish garment one way or another. “Fine. But close your eyes,” he demanded. “Only open them when I tell you to.”

Crowley frowned. “You’ve undressed in front of me  _ countless times,”  _ he stated. “Why  _ now  _ are you acting like I’m some lecher?”

Aziraphale sighed, his eyes angled sadly towards the floor. “It’s not  _ that,”  _ he explained. “I just… I’m shy. You’ve never seen me wear anything like  _ this  _ before, I can assure you, and I don’t want you making fun of me.”

Crowley stretched out and butted his head against his best friend’s back in as close an approximation to a hug as he could get. “I won’t mock you, I promise. If I didn’t tease you on your fifteenth birthday when your mother forced you to wear that  _ ghastly  _ hose-and-tunic she bought for you, I won’t do so now.”

“You’re right, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a tentative smile. He gave a reluctant glance to the bundle in his arms, then steeled his resolve. “I guess I can show you-”

The first dancer, the one with the beautiful smile - Barleda - burst into the room.

“Crowley! I need your help! There’s a guy out there who won’t leave me alone, and I’d  _ really  _ appreciate it if you could… you know…” 

She hooked her two pointer fingers in front of her face and hissed, mimicking a snake biting someone.

“Oh dear. Do you need me to…” Aziraphale let the sentence hang in the air as he gestured at his sword.

Barleda shook her head.

“Nah. He does this  _ every  _ time we come to town; tries to get one of us to go with him to  _ God  _ knows where. I just wanna scare him off so maybe he’ll leave us alone for good,” she said angrily.

Crowley practically lit up at the chance to cause some mischief (for a perfectly good cause, of course!)

“I would be  _ delighted,”  _ he said with a malicious cackle, slithering into the girl’s outstretched hand. “Jusssst point him out to me.”

He and his co-conspirator scampered off, leaving Aziraphale to dress in private. He stared down at the cloth in his arms with the grim stoicism of a man facing his own execution. He gave a weak smile. “Let’s get this over with…” he sighed, shrugging off his cloak.

***~*~*~*~***

To Crowley’s  _ immense  _ satisfaction (and slight disappointment) he hadn’t even had to bite the bugger. The man had taken  _ one look  _ at him and bolted away, evidently deathly afraid of snakes. As thanks for Crowley’s help, Barleda had treated him to a thimble-full of rum before running off to the stage as the minstrels Berre hired for the night began to play the first notes of the song signalling the start of her dance.

Already people were trickling through the doors, soon to be a solid flow, and Crowley watched the stage from his perch on the bar as its owner wiped it down around him. Berre looked at him from behind sad eyes, their long brown hair flopping over their eyes. “Ain’t right, what happened to you.”

“Don’t need to tell  _ me  _ twice,” Crowley grumbled, lapping up the last drops of drink from his thimble.

“What are you going to do once the curse is broken? How will you get your kingdom back?” the tavern-keeper asked, slinging their rag over their shoulder.

“I think once I have my body again, I’ll have enough proof to march an army to my castle and take it back without causing an international incident. Or, who knows, maybe the witch will simply find out I broke it and run for the hills to avoid confrontation,” Crowley said, upending the empty thimble with his tail. He turned to face the stage as Barleda’s dance concluded and the now-sizable crowd erupted into cheers. Corwen - the woman who laughed a lot - moved to take her place.

“It’s almost your number, little guy. Better get to Aziraphale before you’re late,” Berre pointed out as they turned to take a customer’s drink order. Crowley grumbled uncomfortably, but acquiesced. He slid off the bar and onto the floor, careful to stick as close to the wall as possible to avoid getting stepped on or causing a panic.

He reached the back room just as Corwen’s performance was minutes away from wrapping up, and squeezed under the door.

“Come on, angel, it’s almost our tuuuuuuurrr…”

The last word stuttered and died with a flustered gasp as he took in the sight of his best friend. Aziraphale was bare-footed, aside from a single black-gold anklet. A smooth, silk-like fabric the color of midnight that Crowley didn’t have a name for clung to the length of his entire body, accentuating his wide hips with a sharp slit on both sides to allow his legs room to move. It was strapless, revealing the pale expanse of his collar and neck, with a pair of matching sleeveless gloves that covered his arms up to the shoulders. A veil, just sheer enough to see through but too dark to show his eyes, dangled from a circlet atop his head to just above his nose.

“I look silly, don’t I?” Aziraphale said quietly, staring down at his clenched hands. “You don’t need to say anything. I can tell.”

Crowley gulped. “N-no…  _ No!  _ You, uh… you look  _ amazing,  _ actually,” he babbled, a furious blush taking hold. He scrambled to reassure his friend. “It’s… it’s nice. Those hips of yours are  _ really  _ doin’ it for me.”

Aziraphale crossed the room and kneeled in front of him. He held out his palm for Crowley to slither into. “Really? You mean that?” he asked, a prominent redness on his cheeks.

_ “Absolutely!  _ You’re gonna knock ‘em all dead tonight!” the serpent stressed, something warm simmering low in the approximate area of where his belly would be had currently been in possession of a human form.

Aziraphale stood up, the tension melting from his shoulders with the relief of knowing that he didn’t look like a  _ complete  _ fool. Crowley had said  _ many  _ things to him over the years they'd known each other, but he’d never  _ once  _ lied to him to spare his feelings. Therefore, if Crowley said he looked good, then he  _ did. _

Another round of applause could be heard on the other side of the door. “What do you say, my dear? Shall you and I go ‘knock them dead’?” he asked eagerly, gently running his fingers along his friend’s spine.

Without waiting for an answer, he swept out of the room and onto the stage. The crowd, originally thrumming with excitement, fell silent at his approach. 

This was someone  _ new! _

Crowley could sense Aziraphale starting to get cold feet, and swept up his chest to whisper in his ear, “You’ve got this, angel. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

Aziraphale nodded as the music for his routine started up. It was a tune without words, with a fast, energetic drumbeat. Crowley dropped back into Aziraphale’s arms, getting into position. His role was simply to hang there and allow himself to be showcased as part of the story behind the choreography. According to Tracy, it was a story about “embracing what’s right in front of you” and “seeing beyond” or some other tosh like that. As the tempo kicked up Aziraphale began his dance.

He lunged forward like he was getting down on a knee to propose, his hands beating the air in time to the pounding of the drums. He then rose back up onto two feet and performed a strange, serpentine motion that looked like it would have been more comfortable for  _ Crowley  _ to do in his current form, then swivelled his hips so that the fabric around his legs swished enticingly. At the first peek of a pale leg standing out starkly against the dark cloth, Crowley promptly forgot that he was  _ supposed to be dancing too  _ and simply ogled to his little snake heart’s content.

None of the people watching seemed to have any objections, as they began clapping along to the beat of the drums. Aziraphale gave a quick twirl, shimmying his shoulders as he did so and nearly unseating Crowley who snapped back to the present moment. He glanced out over the crowd to see Tracy weaving between tables, pointing at the stage - at him - and making kissy-faces. Most people ignored her, but there  _ were  _ quite a few interested looks. Suddenly, Aziraphale undulated his body once more before snatching Crowley up to hold him aloft above his head as the song ended and the audience burst into enthusiastic applause.

Though he couldn’t see Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley knew they must have been  _ shining.  _ While the applause died down and Adis took his place on stage for the final performance of the night, Crowley and Aziraphale sat down at the bar. The blond’s chest was heaving with exertion from the performance and he ripped off his veil to cast aside.

_ “Goodness  _ that was physically tiring,” he panted, resting his head on his hand. His heart hammered away in his breast. “I can’t possibly imagine doing this for a living like Madame Tracy and her troupe.”

Crowley laughed. “That’s a shame. You were  _ amazing!” _

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said, out-of-breath. He leaned against the bar. “You were excellent as well. I genuinely believed you were merely a regular snake.”

He almost flinched when Berre set a bottle down beside him.

“Here you are. Compliments of the Madame for a job well done,” they said. “It’s the  _ good  _ stuff, so enjoy!”

Aziraphale gratefully accepted the bottle, taking a sniff. “Oh! It’s quite fruity!” he said with a note of excitement.

“Yup. It’s made from fermented coconut water. One bottle of this’ll knock you on your arse, so drink slowly,” Berre said cautiously. They gave the two men a polite nod, before returning to their duties of seeing to other customers.

While Aziraphale began taking tentative sips of his drink, Crowley looked up to see Tracy beckoning him over with a crooked finger. 

“Hey, angel, I’m going to see what she needs. I’ll be right back so  _ don’t  _ drink all that without me!”

Aziraphale made a noise of reluctant agreement, and took another sip. Crowley, who was by now largely known to the tavern’s patrons, was able to reach Tracy without anyone putting up a fuss about a “wild snake”. Aziraphale watched him and the Madame exchange a few words that were inaudible over the din of the crowd. It appeared that Tracy had found several people willing to kiss Crowley, and led him to a table full of them.

Aziraphale sighed and returned to his drink. For a reason he couldn’t identify (admittedly, the drink had already started to make things a little pleasant and sparkly around the edges) his face  _ burned  _ at the sight of all those people eager to claim Crowley for their own. The thought of their quest coming to an end because Crowley had finally found his true love had Aziraphale wanting to sulk. That want was immediately swept away under a  _ tidal wave  _ of guilt. For goodness’s sake he should be  _ wanting  _ his friend’s curse to break!

Aziraphale was so deep in his own self-loathing at his treacherous thoughts that he didn’t even notice the man sliding onto the stool next to him.

“That was a nice dance. I take it you’re new to the troupe?” the man asked, voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

Aziraphale practically leapt out of his seat when he finally noticed him. “Oh! Yes, I’m afraid. My, er, snake and I are simply passing through and Madame Tracy was kind enough to give us a ride.”

The man hummed and nodded, then pointed at the ground confusedly. “Hey, did you drop that?”

Aziraphale followed the path of the other man’s finger, but saw nothing there. He looked back in time to see the stranger jerk his other hand close to his body.

“I don’t see anything,” the blond said apologetically. He took his drink back.

The man’s face twitched once, then broke into a contrite smile. “Must have been just a shadow, then,” he replied evenly, and watched Aziraphale take another sip.

***~*~*~*~***

Madame Tracy scrubbed the top of Crowley’s head and the sides of his face with a wet rag to clean off the dozens of shades of lipstick he had obtained throughout the evening.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed that none of them worked,” she said softly.

“I’m used to it,” Crowley replied curtly. He looked back towards the bar, but Aziraphale was no longer there. His drink, only one quarter empty, sat on the counter, but there was neither hide nor hair of the Nemahnian prince. “Oi, Tracy, did you see where my friend went?”

“No, pet, I haven’t,” she said, scanning the crowd, her brow creased. Then, she made a dainty noise of confusion. “Oh! There he is! He’s leaving with someone!”

_ “What?!” _

“Wait, I think I know that man-” Tracy began.

She was interrupted by Crowley’s  _ furious  _ hiss.

It was that  _ wanker  _ from earlier! The one that always harassed the troupe that Crowley had scared off! Evidently he hadn’t done a good enough job, judging the fact that the man was leading… no… he was practically  _ dragging  _ Aziraphale out the front door! One of the blond’s arms was slung over the stranger’s shoulder, and he leaned fully against the man, unable to keep himself upright. His feet scraped across the floor, and his skin had taken on an unnatural paleness.

Crowley instantly put two-and-two together regarding his friend’s semi-consciousness and the abandoned drink on the bar and his heart plummeted to the vicinity of somewhere around his tail.

He let out an outraged cry and launched himself off the table he’d been perched on just as the stranger and Aziraphale disappeared out into the night beyond the door. He could hear Tracy shouting after him, but he paid no attention in favor of getting to his angel before the worst could happen.

Dread filled the entire length of his body as he realized that, in his current form, he was too  _ small  _ to catch up to them in time! And if he did, what could he do on his own? He had no hands to hold a weapon, no loud enough voice to shout for the guards! Frustrated, hateful tears filled his eyes at his own  _ uselessness! _

His angel was going to get hurt, or  _ worse,  _ and there was  _ nothing  _ Crowley could do to stop it!

The sixth  _ and  _ seventh threads of the curse snapped simultaneously in his grief and Crowley shot up into his human shape at the same moment he crossed the building’s threshold into the darkness beyond.

He sent up a quick prayer of thanks to  _ whoever  _ was listening, and snatched up a cloak that had been left out on someone’s sill to dry overnight. Draping it over his shoulders to hide the worst of his nudity, he spun on his heels, listening  _ desperately  _ for any sign of where Aziraphale and his abductor could have gone.

The streets were empty this late, and there was nothing to illuminate them beyond the glow from windows of houses and the bright moon and stars shining down overhead. Just when Crowley was about to start screaming Aziraphale’s name and begging for him to answer, his ears picked up the sounds of hushed voices from the alley closest to him.

“What’ve you got fer us tonight, Luca?”

“I managed to  _ actually  _ get one of the dancers this time! He’s not from around here, so I think we could get away with selling him a bit further up north. Maybe as a concubine?”

“I think the right word for male concubine is ‘concubinator’,”

“Who gives a shit?!”

Crowley heard Aziraphale put up a weak, slurred protest and that was the last he heard before his blood began  _ roaring  _ in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. 

His bare feet slapped the ground loud enough to practically echo off the surrounding buildings as he ran into the alley. “Oi! Let go of him  _ right now  _ you bastards!”

Aziraphale’s head rolled backwards as the abductor - Luca - and the man he’d been trying to sell him to turned to confront Crowley. The two of them edged backwards as the redhead took a threatening step  _ forwards.  _ The buyer shot Luca a snarl. “I thought you said blondie came here  _ alone!”  _

“H-he did!” the kidnapper protested, eyeing Crowley warily as the enraged man took another step closer, body coiled to pounce. “He only came here with a pet snake! That’s it!”

Crowley snarled. “Put him down  _ now  _ or so help me  _ Somebody  _ I’ll  _ rip off your arms and shove them up your-”  _

Not willing to be recognized and have the town guards potentially called, the buyer broke into a sprint in the opposite direction out of the alley, abandoning Luca. The abductor trembled in place for all of half a second before realizing that his “friend” probably had the right idea and shoved Aziraphale forward to allow himself time to escape. Crowley let out a choked wail and caught Aziraphale in his arms before he could hit the dirt.

“It’s okay, angel, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” Crowley frantically whispered, lowering the both of them to the ground and taking his friend into his lap. “Come on,  _ please  _ wake up!”

He curled protectively over Aziraphale’s limp body, pressing their foreheads together. Just how much of that stuff had they dosed him with? Could they have potentially given him too much? What if he  _ died?! _

Aziraphale didn’t stir, his face slack as if he were just in a peaceful sleep. Crowley touched his friend’s cheek, shuddering at the chill he felt there. 

“Crowley? Crowley!”

The King of Ifrann growled and clutched Aziraphale closer to him as Tracy and Berre appeared at the entrance to the alley, each bearing a lantern.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, seething.  _ “Get out of here!  _ This is all  _ your fault!  _ If you hadn’t asked him to dance or bought him that  _ stupid drink _ he wouldn’t have… wouldn’t…”

Berre cautiously approached, one hand held up as if they were attempting to soothe a wild animal. With Crowley’s wild, flyaway hair, crazed eyes, and toothy snarl, he  _ absolutely  _ looked like one.

“Mate, calm down and let me take a look at him,” they said, laying a cautious hand on Aziraphale’s chest.

Crowley gave a half-hearted whine of protest, but nothing more. Taking it as consent, Berre pressed their ear against Aziraphale’s sternum to listen to his heartbeat. It was a little sluggish, but steady. They held the lantern close to Aziraphale’s mouth to watch his breath fog up the glass in even intervals. They then peeled up a single eyelid. His pupils didn’t contract at the light, which was  _ deeply  _ concerning to Crowley, but Berre simply accepted with a stoic nod.

“Is he going to be alright?” Crowley asked, vaguely aware that his voice sounded like he was  _ begging  _ for the answer to be “yes”. He watched Berre stand up.

“Your friend will be alright. He got a pretty big dose, but not enough to be dangerous. He  _ will  _ however, most likely be unconscious until tomorrow. You can stay in one of my inn rooms on the second floor until he recovers,” they said. Their jaw was clenched in anger on Aziraphale’s behalf at what had  _ almost  _ happened.

Crowley swallowed and shifted his hold to where he was able to clumsily stand up, carrying Aziraphale bridal style. As he allowed Berre to lead him back towards The Green Wharf, he shot Tracy a look filled with metaphorical (though he  _ deeply  _ wished it was literal) venom and she averted her eyes.

***~*~*~*~***

In their temporary room for the night, Crowley lay on his side in bed behind Aziraphale, pressed up against him with a leg thrown over his hip and arms pressing chest-to-back as close as they could reasonably be without  _ actually  _ fusing into a single entity.

It had been a bit of an ordeal to get the both of them changed into the nightclothes Berre had loaned them, what with how limp and unresponsive Aziraphale was, but Crowley had had experience in dressing his catatonic friend in the past.

“This brings back some memories, doesn’t it?” Crowley chuckled, playing his fingers out across Aziraphale’s chest to feel the  _ lub-dub  _ of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath. “Like that time a few years back when you got  _ really sick  _ and delirious with fever? You wouldn’t even let the castle healers get anywhere  _ near  _ you without you screaming for me. I had to ride out all the way from Ifrann just to get you to take your medicine.”

Crowley pointedly did  _ not  _ mention how  _ terrified  _ he’d been as he rode all through the night and day to make it to Aziraphale’s side. He’d had to help feed, dress, and take care of him, as anyone else who tried was met with stubborn rebukes. Every night they’d shared a bed to ward off Aziraphale’s chills, in a near-perfect mirror to the present.

The only difference was that  _ then,  _ Aziraphale had been at least  _ somewhat  _ cognizant; able to ask for simple things and move and whatnot.

_ This time,  _ he was cold, unnaturally still, and didn’t so much as twitch in his sleep. Crowley hid a sniffle between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades.

He didn’t know how long he had left until he turned back into a snake, and that thought filled him with a newfound determination to break his curse, if for no other reason than to keep Aziraphale safe. Against all odds, he managed to press their bodies even  _ closer  _ together in a tight embrace.

“Don’t worry, angel. I’ll protect you from now on,” he whispered.

_ “I promise.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why you gotta be so mean to Tracy, Crowley? 😤


End file.
